Southern Samaritan: The Angel of
Marye's Heights
The story of Sergeant Richard Rowland
KirklandPublished in the Spotsylvania
Presbyterian Church Post
by Michael Aubrecht, Copyright 2006

The
merciful man doeth good to his own soul: but he
that is cruel troubleth his own flesh.- Proverbs 11:17 (KJV)

Every Civil War writer has quoted
either Union General William T. Sherman's statement
of "War is Hell," or the Confederacy's Supreme
Commander, Robert E. Lee, when he said "It is well
that war is so terrible -- lest we should grow too
fond of it." Both of these men were among the
greatest generals ever to set foot on a
battlefield, yet their obvious distaste for the
very acts that made them legendary resonates from
these lines. As a historian, one must always be
careful not to "over romanticize" war and to be
constantly aware of the cold, sometimes harsh
realities of the people and times that they
portray. This is a dilemma that has plagued
military critics for centuries and has resulted in
both revisionist and apologist histories being
written again and again.

However, for every heartbreak in
wartime, there has also been heroism, and for every
tragedy, there has also been triumph. This is what
makes the history of warfare worthy of our
attention and justifies the energy we spend to
preserve its memory for future generations. It is
the good stories, the ones that reflect life (not
death), the ones founded on courage and mercy that
demand our interest. This is the side of war that
truly needs to be glorified.

One
such incident is the story of Sergeant Richard
Rowland Kirkland, otherwise known as "The Angel of
Marye's Heights. Perhaps the most compassionate and
heroic character of the entire Civil War, this lone
Confederate soldier's conduct has become one of the
most touching and inspirational subjects ever to
come out of the War Between the States.

By
the winter of 1862, Robert E. Lee's forces,
christened the Army of Northern Virginia, had
claimed more decisive battlefield victories than
their northern counterparts due [in part] to the
majority of engagements that took place on Southern
soil. Throughout the first year of the war, the
Confederates had managed to capitalize on a clear
"home field advantage" by dictating both the time
and place of most major engagements. As a result,
the Confederate States of America appeared to be
well on their way toward achieving
independence.

One
of the biggest and most "one-sided" victories took
place right here in our own backyard during the
Battle of Fredericksburg. Early in the morning, on
December 13, 1862, Union forces began a desperate
and doomed assault on a fortified position, known
today as the "stone wall".

After crossing the Rappahannock
River and taking possession of Fredericksburg, the
Federal Army of the Potomac set its sights on
taking the surrounding area where the Army of
Northern Virginia had withdrawn. Perhaps a little
too confident after experiencing only minor
skirmishes in the town, the Union commanders failed
to realize the brilliant tactical deployments
established by Lee's lieutenants. By intentionally
leaving the town to the enemy, Confederate forces
were able to fortify their positions in
anticipation of the Federal Army's arrival. The
most impenetrable of these positions was a long
stone wall at the base of a sloping hill known as
Marye's Heights. Overlooking the field stood
another "virtual" wall of Confederate artillery,
cavalry, and support troops that extended for miles
in both directions. The result was a suicide
mission.

In
order to reach the enemy, Union soldiers had to
ford a canal ditch and then cross a vast open field
with little or no cover. As soon as they left the
tree line, a massive artillery barrage, joined by
almost uncountable rifle fire, rained down upon the
advancing men. Those that were able to escape the
cannon, were slowed by a slope that led to the
fortified stone behind which the Confederate forces
were amassed. Behind the wall, soldiers knelt two
and three ranks deep, with the front line firing
and the rest reloading musket after musket. The
result was a continuous hail of fire that cut rows
and rows of men down before they could even get
into position.

Wave after wave, the Union soldiers
left the safety of the canal ditch and were
slaughtered. The death toll was staggering: in just
one hour, the Union troops suffered over 3,000
dead. After 15 unsuccessful charges, the fighting
ceased for the night, leaving the field littered
with thousands of bloody Union bodies. Around
midnight, Federal troops ventured forth under cover
of darkness to gather what wounded they could find,
but many were too close to the Confederate line to
retrieve. Throughout the night, screams and cries
of the wounded penetrated the peaceful silence of
the cease-fire.

A
Confederate soldier stationed at the wall later
stated it was “Weird, unearthly, terrible to hear
and bear,” the cries of the dying soldiers filling
the air —lying crippled on a hillside so many miles
from home—breaking the hearts of soldiers on both
sides of the battlefield.”

One
soldier, Richard Rowland Kirkland, an infantry
sergeant in Company E with the 2nd South Carolina
Volunteers, struggled to rest amidst the horrid
sounds of suffering that echoed across the
battlefield. A combat veteran, he was used to the
dead and dying, having seen action at Manassas,
Savage Station, Maryland Heights and Antietam. By
the morning of the 14th, he could take it no longer
and requested permission to aid the enemy.

Initially, his commanding officer
was reluctant, as Kirkland would likely be shot
dead by Union sharpshooters when he cleared the
wall. He later granted the persistent soldier his
request, but forbid him to carry a flag of truce.
Determined to do the right thing, and with total
disregard for his own safety, Kirkland grabbed
several canteens and leaped over the fortification.
Instantly several shots rang out as the Union
soldiers thought their wounded were under attack.
Realizing the sincerity of Kirkland's effort, the
Federal marksmen lowered the barrels of their
rifles. Thus, the fatal shot never came and both
sides looked on in amazement as the sergeant moved
from one wounded man in blue to another. Going back
and forth over the wall for an hour and a half,
Kirkland only returned to the safety of his own
lines after he had done all he could do.

A
fellow soldier in Kirkland's company later recalled
the incident a part of a short narrative entitled
"The Confederate Veteran" that was published in
1903. He wrote, "The enemy saw him, and supposing
his purpose was to rob the dead and wounded, rained
shot and shell upon the brave Samaritan. God took
care of him. Soon he lifted the head of one of the
wounded enemy, placed the canteen to his lips, and
cooled his burning thirst. His motivation was then
seen and the fire silenced. Shout after shout went
up from friend and foe alike in honor of this brave
deed."

In
the end, this soldier's action resulted in much
more than a moment of mercy. It was a moment that
stopped the entire Civil War and reminded those
around him, that regardless of their circumstances,
one should always strive to show compassion for his
fellow man.

In
1965, a monument was sculpted by the famous artist
Felix DeWeldon and unveiled in front of the stone
wall on the Fredericksburg Battlefield where
Kirkland performed his humanitarian act. The
inscription on the statue reads: "At the risk of
his life, this American soldier of sublime
compassion brought water to his wounded foes at
Fredericksburg. The fighting men on both sides of
the line called him the Angel of Marye's
Heights."